Fratricide
by DoomKnight1of24
Summary: My take on the finale in "A Paragon Of Her Kind" in Dragon Age: Origin. Duran takes care of the unfinished business between himself and the brother who betrayed him. One-shot.
1. Fratricide

**AN:**_ This is a little something I came up with while playing. I just didn't like the fact that there was no way to reach any kind of "closure" with Bhelen, at least if you play like I did (Male Dwarven Noble, following Harrowmont), so I started to develop the idea of this little oneshot, hoping that I might perhaps find a kindred spirit here. So this is; according to me, at least; how the Final Scene in 'A Paragon Of Her Kind' should have ended._

"Lords of the Assembly, I call for order! This argument get's us nowhere!"  
>The voice of the Lord Steward rang loudly over the irritated murmurs of the deshyrs, the annoyance in his voice evident. Duran registered it with a painful pang as he neared the Assembly Hall, as it's sounds, combined with the always-present special atmosphere that all great halls in political institutions seemed to have, stirred an old memory deep inside his mind.<br>He had heard that voice often before. After all, he had…

..._attended many meetings in the assembly hall and voiced the odd thought there himself, all in order to gain a better understanding of the intricate political system that ran Orzammar. He had never particularly enjoyed it, and had always felt more at home in the Proving Grounds, or the Deep Roads, or, if he had to, the soldier's training grounds, were all problems were simple and their solutions even more so. Politics had never been his strength. Trian had scolded him when he had been younger for not attending meetings, or for seeming distant and uninvolved when he actually showed up to them. It had always taken some stern words from his father for him to gather any enthusiasm at all to sit through a whole meeting without jumping from his seat to flounce off to the training grounds, where he would find some young recruit and beat him black and blue, just to end up buying drinks at Tapster's for the entire squad.  
><em>_In time, and as he grew older and (or so he liked to think) wiser, he began to take a keener interest in the Assembly's workings and discussions. Always willing to learn, and constantly eager to please his tutors and, most of all, his father, he began to watch the other speakers more closely, scrutinizing them, and learned to read their expressions and tone of voice. And one day, when some old dusty military general had presented the idea of drafting casteless forcefully into the Legion of the Dead to increase their manpower, Duran had taken a stand himself for the first time and had successfully argued against the idea of thinning out the pure fighting spirit of the Legion, just to fill them with untrained and uncommitted men lacking the suicidal devoutness that marked the Legion as it's foremost bulwark against the hordes of the Darkspawn. It had been a different kind of victory than the one he was used to, but it had felt sweet nevertheless, and although Trian had seemed a little grumpy after having the spotlight stolen from his little brother, he had grudgingly grunted his approval, and his father had complimented him that very same evening for his convincing speech. Even Bhelen, who had still been a little too young to take interest in such things, had followed Duran the whole evening, begging him to give his impression of the flabbergasted general's face again and again…_

"Then why the delaying tactics? I call for a vote right now. My father has one living child to assume the Aeducan throne. Who would deny him that?"  
>Another voice shook Duran from his memories, causing him to stop for a moment. That voice he knew at least as well as the Lord Steward's, if not better.<br>_Oh Bhelen…_

_"Brother!"  
><em>_Duran turned around to see the owner of the voice calling for him, and saw Bhelen running at him, still wearing the heavy armor father had given him just a few months ago, apparently oblivious to its weight. Duran couldn't help a grin spreading across his face. Turning around fully, he waited for his little brother to catch up to him.  
><em>_"Now look who we have here. The hero of the hour." Bhelen stood before him, panting, holding his sides, but answered his brother's grin with a smile himself. "Very funny. It wasn't even me leading the expedition today, so calling me a 'hero' or something seems a little exaggerated." Duran laughed and took his brother in a half-chokehold to ruffle affectionately through his hair. "Still, first time in the Deep Roads, eh? Heard you got a couple of Genlocks, yourself." Bhelen's expression darkened at the memory, dealing a heavy blow to the jaunty atmosphere. He shook off his brother's arm and averted his gaze. "Let's… let's not go there. Hearing about these things was one thing, but actually meeting one up close was a completely different matter. I almost would have thrown down my weapons there and then, and made back down the tunnel, had the rest of the squad not been behind me. Frankly, I don't feel brave." His gaze sunk to the ground.  
><em>_Duran gave Bhelen a long look. He understood completely what his brother meant. "Come here." He took his brother by the shoulders, looking him directly in the eyes. "There is no shame in fear. Remember what father told us when we were little? 'Great men are like intricate stonework: they are not born the way they are, but made and sculpted. When you look at it, you only see the completed work, but not the small flaws it is made up of.' Everybody is afraid when facing the Darkspawn for the first time. It is through mastering that fear that we gain the strength to stand up to them… and to much more." Bhelen scoffed. "You say that so easily…" - "No, I'm not. It is hard for everyone, was hard for me, too, but you'll come around to it eventually. I know you will." Duran gave his brother an encouraging grin. "Besides, you did better than most people back then. Normally, they cry and shout, and embarrass themselves. You, on the other hand… I mean, how high was your Darkspawn-count? Four?" Bhelen failed to fight a grin as he answered. "Six." Duran gave him an accretive nod. "Six, even. Very impressive for your first time with an expedition, I'd say." He grinned as well. "Let's sneak out down to Tapster's tonight and celebrate. I can ask Gorim to make up a story for Trian." Bhelen looked unsure. "And what about the guard?" Duran let out a short laugh. His eyes gleamed mischievously. "Oh, don't worry. I've got just the idea…"_

"I apologize for the interruption, Lord Steward, but the Grey Warden has returned."  
>The guard's voice finally tore through the haze of memories that had settled around Duran's mind. Blinking, he stopped for a moment, collecting himself. Before he could say anything, Harrowmont raised his voice against the irritated whisper that had started rolling through the Assembly Hall. "We should let the Grey Warden speak. What news do you bring?" Although his words had been recited in his usual well-articulated, somewhat solemn voice, Duran clearly detected a faint trace of urgency in it, and saw an impatience in the grey-bearded dwarf's eyes that bordered on giddiness. It was so unlike him and the sight seemed so bizarre to Duran, that he almost forgot that the old noble had meant him. He cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and spoke, with a clear, hard voice: "As the highborn lords of the Assembly may know, so have I been to the Deep Roads to search for any signs of the lost Paragon Branka and to end this meaningless struggle for power. Today, I have returned." He paused for a moment and turned his gaze up to give Bhelen a penetrating look. His brother shifted uneasily under his glare for a short time before reluctantly averting his eyes. Duran turned back to the Assembly. "Lords of the Assembly, I bring before you a crown for our new king, forged by the Paragon Branka on the Anvil of the Void itself, a king chosen by the ancestors themselves." He reached behind his back and brought forth the crown, holding it high over his head. An awed murmur rose up among the nobles in the around him.<br>The Lord Steward was the first one to speak up again. "There is no doubt to your words: the crown is clearly of Paragon make. Tell us, Warden, whom did the ancestors chose?"  
>To the obvious surprise of the Assembly, Duran grew unsure for the first time. He lowered his head, feverish thoughts racing across his mind, his lips forming soundless words. But when he raised his head again, his voice rang even sharper. "<em>As our new king, the ancestors chose Lord Harrowmont!<em>"

The Assembly grew quiet. Duran read reluctance on some faces, satisfaction on others, at some places even malicious joy or obvious anger. Harrowmont himself almost collapsed with relief, but could not help smiling triumphantly as he said: "I appreciate your forthrightness, Warden. You have acted with grace through this entire torturous process." He stepped down from the pedestal he had been standing, past Bhelen, whose eyes were spraying sparks of anger, past the Lord Steward, ignoring them, his eyes hanging on the Paragon crown. Halfway down the pedestal he stopped to look around the Assembly hall. The other nobles had started to gather around the middle of the chamber, hammering their staffs rhythmically to the ground, involuntarily drawn to the crown themselves, captivated by the power it radiated. Harrowmont smiled again, obviously pleased, and continued towards the chamber's center, where the keeper of memories was waiting, holding the crown in both hands, looking as mesmerized as the others.  
>Duran watched them, feeling oddly distant from the scene unfolding in front of him. He knew that once upon a time, a time that seemed ages ago, he himself might have shared the nobles awe, but now he simply felt awkward and out of place. Impassively, he watched as Harrowmont reached the chamber's center and knelt. The Shaper of Memories put the crown on his head, and said, as Harrowmont rose, "May the ancestors find you worthy. First amidst the lords of the Houses: the king of Orzammar."<p>

"_No!_"

The Assembly in its entirety whirled around, startled by the noise, and the voice that had broken the spell of the paragon's crown, and the man who was now wearing it. Bhelen had jumped down the pedestal, shaking with anger. "I will not abide by this!" His mouth set into a thin line, and he was just about to continue his rebuke, before one of the nobles cut him off. "The ancestors have spoken!" Duran made a step forward. "Brother, don't. You have already sacrificed more for this than you were allowed to. Are you really willing to put an innocent through suffering one more time to reach your own, selfish goals?" Bhelen shot around to him, his face contorting in wrath. "Don't talk to me about innocence! Or selfishness! I did not do this for myself!" he shouted, his hands already flying to his weapons. Behind him, Duran heard another noble's shout: "Watch out! They brought weapons!"

Armed men flooded the Assembly hall like rats. They had hidden in concealed alcoves and spaces, and wore only lighter and medium armor to avoid making noise in their hiding places, and flourished only short swords or maces; the long two-handed hammers and axes that were so popular with most dwarves would simply have gotten stuck in the tight spaces. Though lighter armed than the Guard, they were more than enough to overcome the unarmed Assembly-members.

Next to Duran, Oghren, who had, together with the rest of his companions, stayed in the background the entire time, shouted: "An Ambush! Should've thought that these bleeding stoneheads wouldn't play by the rules!" And with a roar, he ran forward pulling out the Nugcrusher, and swung it around to blow one of Bhelen's assassin's brains clean out. He didn't even bother stopping, but simply ran on, the Berserker's Rage already extinguishing every last bit of restraint he had.

Duran himself quickly pulled the Aeducan Shield and Starfang from his back, immediately on Oghren's heels. He turned to face one of Bhelen's men, who flourished two smaller dual-axes. The assassin hesitated just for a moment, before swinging his weapons in a wide right arch, trying to force Duran's defense down. In response, Duran used his opponent's forward momentum and bashed into him with his shield raised, knocking his opponent's weapons from his hands. Starfang performed a tight half-circle, and the assassin fell spluttering to his knees, his hands going to his throat, spraying blood, but Duran turned around without sparing him a second glance, immediately ready to face the next opponent. He had lost sight of his companions. From somewhere in the thick of the battle, he could hear Oghren laugh uproariously, and behind him he could screaming, where Morrigan was unleashing hell against her enemies, and once he caught a glimpse of Zevran striking down an opponent with a nonchalance that seemed almost insulting. A quick look around confirmed his suspicions: the battle began to disperse almost as quickly as it had begun. Bhelen's men had underestimated the group's fighting power, had believed their numbers to be enough defeat an outnumbered group of fighters of unknown experience, had not taken into account the desperate ferocity many of the nobles had shown.

A shout on the other side of the room made Duran look up. Bhelen had been driven into a corner by group of nobles who had picked up daggers from the fallen assassins. Duran rushed to him, shoving aside friend and foe alike. He raised his voice above the sound of battle."No! He's mine! He's mine!" The nobles stopped, intimidated . One of them ignored him and tried to make a move against Bhelen. Duran hit him so hard that it seemed to lift him off his feet. "He's mine! The first one to make another step forward I'll kill myself!" The crowd backed away. Duran renewed the grip around his weapons and moved forward.

Bhelen had obviously had to take a few hits himself. There was an ugly bruise on his forehead and a shallow cut across his left cheek, making him look even paler than before. But his face was still drawn into a grimace of rage, and his eyes still spit fire with anger. Without any kind of hesitation, he gripped his axe with both hands, and, with a roar, let it come down. Duran made a small step backwards and trapped Bhelen's axe with his foot when it hit the ground. A blow with Starfang's hilt shattered it. Duran let go of the shield and sucker-punched Bhelen that it carried him to the next wall. There, he slumped down, unmoving. Duran let also go of Starfang now, and approached his brother again. He picked him up bodily and slammed him in the wall behind. His hands found Bhelen's throat, who started struggling and thrashing.

_"Look…"_

Bhelen kicked him hard in the stomach, but Duran didn't notice through the mist that had started to settle around him.

_"Look, brother…"_

Finally, Bhelen stilled. With effort, Duran loosened his grip, letting is brother's body fall beside him. Slowly, he turned around, taking in the scene around him through the mysterious mist that was obscuring his vision. It must have been a remnant of one of Morrigan's spells. Only now did he notice the absence of any sound. The silence in the Assembly hall was absolute. Duran couldn't see the shock in the faces of Harrowmont, of the nobles, of his companions. He turned to where he thought to discern them. "I think that's enough now, Morrigan." he said. He was surprised to hear that is voice didn't seem to shake at all. "This magic of yours won't effectively conceal anyone, except perhaps an enemy." When Morrigan spoke again, the bewilderment in her voice was evident. "What do you mean? There is no magic at work at this place, neither mine nor anyone else's." Now confused himself, but filled with a creeping suspicion, Duran pulled off his right glove and to touch his eye. A single tear stained his fingers. He had been crying without realizing it.

**AN:**_ Well, that's that. It somehow took me a really long time to finish this one, don't know why meself. Anyway, if you actually like this story, please don't just subscribe, but comment as well. Cuz' if you do, I might actually add a little aftermath to this story. And I'd promise to hurry up with that one. _

_So, you know what you have to do. Comment and give me some feedback, or doomy will get gloomy. And then, things usually go really bad._


	2. Aftermath

**AN:**_ Yep, second chapter finished. I dedicate this one to __**A Timid Soul**__. Thanks, man. Without you, I would have had to give up on this story as well._

"…eternally in your debt. You can count on Orzammar to send you every last able-bodied man we can spare."

Duran looked up. He had spent the last hour or so in a stupor, impassively looking at the commotion that had ensued after Bhelen's betrayal but not really seeing it. First now, in Harrowmont's study, were the newly-crowned king was heaping thanks on him like dung, he had snapped out of it.

Harrowmont had taken of his crown and had set it upon a special cushion next to his desk, finding it to taxing to carry the symbol of his newly-won power with him at all times. A fitting analogy, Duran thought dryly.

He silenced the elderly noble's ramblings with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Very good, thanks. I myself am, of course, indebted to you as well for your generous help in my own efforts." He made a futile attempt to smile, but stopped when he saw Harrowmont take a fearful step back upon seeing his expression. Instead he half-turned to leave. "I'm deeply sorry, milord, but alas, my attention is needed elsewhere." He made a point of not bowing and turned without waiting for a reply.

Harrowmont gave a nervous laugh. "Yes, I can see that." He laughed again, another short nervous laugh. "I'm sorry, I am not myself right now. " A pause. "To think that the young lord Aeducan would actually sink so low… I guess there are rotten eggs in every family."

Duran had already been half outside the door when he stopped. He knew, in a distanced way, that what he had just heard was just weeks of stress leaving Harrowmont's body, that the old noble right now had about as much control over himself as an old lyric miner. Knew it. But stopped nonetheless. Turned.

Very slowly, with deliberate care, he entered the study again and carefully locked the door behind him. Harrowmont had stopped babbling like an infant and watched him with big eyes, sensing the sudden change in atmosphere.

Before he knew what he was doing, Duran stood in front of him the older dwarf again and grabbed him by his ornamented garments to fling him across the room like a twig.

Harrowmont crashed loudly against the opposite wall and slid down to the ground, from where he did not rise again. Duran strode over to hoist him up on his feet and smashed the noble's back against the wall again. Harrowmont gave him a look of raw horror and struggled weakly against his grip, which went unregistered through the red mist that had defended upon Duran's vision. He smashed Harrowmont against the wall again and again, ignoring the weakly struggling noble underneath him.

A half-strangled moan broke from the old dwarf's lips, snapping Duran out of his sudden blood rage. He looked at Harrowmont's beaten face, whose eyes had rolled back in their orbits. "…-rgive mu, blease…" Harrowmont managed to force out. Duran let him fall down where he stood, where the old noble crumpled to a heap. Duran turned around to walk back to Harrowmont's desk, where he desperately tried to steady himself, while Harrowmont was still sitting with his back against the wall, unmoving and muttering.

His sudden outburst shamed him more than Duran cared to admit. It was unlike him to loose his cool like that, and he normally prided himself on being able to stay detached and cold in most situations, making logical and intelligent decisions even in difficult situations.

But Harrowmont was not the only one who had reached his limit. During the last few days, Duran, too, had been forced to confront many memories and hardships that he would rather have liked to avoid. The confrontation with Bhelen had given him the rest; he could feel himself slipping, feeling exhausted, frustrated, horrified, _disgusted_ with himself and this _parade_ in which he had to play the part of the higher power's plaything…

_No more!_

He was done with the mockeries of the dwarven nobles and their pretentious tug-of-war games that had cost him his family, his happiness, everything he had loved about his life…

_No more!_

When he turned around to face Harrowmont again, his face like stone and his voice was hard.

"Today, I _killed_ the last remaining member of my family in order for you to wear this fool's cap!" He pointed at the crown at its velvet cushion. Harrowmont said nothing, just continued to stare at him dumbly, eyes big and mouth agape. Duran turned away again. "I don't care what you plan on doing now that you managed to finally get your hand on the throne. Go play pretender, for all I care. It is not your throne, anyway. You might as well enjoy it for as long as you can. But do not belittle Bhelen. His demise today was an inevitability. My father's and Brother's deaths demanded it, not my loyalty to you. You are only half the man Bhelen was, and you will only be half the king he would have been." Harrowmont's eyes grew even bigger upon hearing this. Duran saw it, too, and understood. He didn't know wether to laugh or cry. "What? Does that seriously surprise you? Did you hope that, after decades of thralldom, you would finally be able to be the master instead of the servant? That you could gain a king's power with no strings attached?" He leaned down to old dwarf, his eyes now narrow slits of anger. "Well, I must admit that I'm not very sorry about shattering that delusion of yours, not after what you said." He straightened again, staring down on Harrowmont with unconcealed spite. "This crown-" he pointed on it again with a harsh gesture "-should have been on my head today, not yours. I was the one chosen by the Paragon and gifted with the right of kingship, and you hold it right now only because of my generosity and duteousness. Know this-" and with that he bent down to Harrowmont again to whisper in his ear "-that you, for the rest of your life, are nothing but a king out of my mercy."

And with that, Duran turned around one last time to leave forever.

* * *

><p>He had agreed with his companions to meet again in the Commons, at the entrance to Diamond Quarters. Not finding them there, he steered his steps towards Tapster's, and sure enough, he found them there huddled around one of the dwarven-sized tables in the back of the taproom, half concealed by the tavern's gloom and it's merrily carousing patrons. As soon as Duran had set foot into the tavern, Rascal, the mabari, jumped up and ran to greet him. His impetuosity incited several yells of irritation among the guests.<p>

"Easy, boy, easy." Duran calmed the dog with a short pat on the head. Rascal gave a short bark, and wagged his tail. "One could think he's a mother hen and you are his chick. We had to bribe him into following with us." Duran looked up. Alistair had come to him as well, and was now standing in front of him, giving him an embarrassed grin. "Sorry that we left, but Oghren wouldn't stop whining and cursing about being thirsty and all. And watching him spouting his drunken nonsense becomes quite amusing after a while. We would have waited, but you took longer than expected, and so we thought there would be nothing wrong with letting him have his way." Duran nodded and let his gaze wander down to his gloves. There was blood on them. "Sorry about that. Me and 'his majesty' got into a little argument." Alistair followed his gaze and saw the blood. He paled. He, better than anybody, knew Duran and his terrible body strength from countless spars and playful bouts while they had been in camp, and that he came from the king's audience now with stained knuckles left sinking feeling of dread in Alistair's stomach. "Is he…" He did not finish his sentence. Duran looked up again. "What? Oh no, don't worry. He's fine, just had his feathers ruffled a little." - "Right." Alistair was not convinced. "Are you going to regret what you just did?" Duran looked down on his hands again. "Probably, but I'll get over it. Come, now." He turned around. "Rally the others. I don't want to stay a minute longer in this hole if I can help it."

* * *

><p>This first breath of fresh air was almost as good as it had been three four months, when he had first seen the surface. Before then, Duran had never understood why <em>any <em>dwarf would willingly leave the comforts Orzammars, and had always looked down on the dusters, the outcasts, especially the ones who had originally been born underground and had left for the surface for commercial reasons. Now, he understood them better. He had been overwhelmed by the sheer space, the _openness_ that had presented itself before him. In the weeks to follow, he'd had the same experience whenever he had stepped outside, left the confining walls of, for instance, a tavern he had been resting in, or even when leaving his tent in the morning. Now, the sensation showed itself more rarely, but after weeks of time spent underground, it hit him again: the sudden lightness, the diversity of sudden impressions,… He almost wanted to spread his arms and simply fly away in the sky.

The thought almost brought the smile back to his lips. Looking to his side, he saw Oghren, who seemed similarly overwhelmed by the view that presented it to himself. He was making round eyes, and his mouth had formed a dark hole, as he slowly turned around, taking in everything about his new surroundings.

"Quite an experience, huh?" Duran grinned. Oghren turned slowly to look at him. "Is it always like this?" he whispered devoutly. Duran stepped forward to stand next to him. "In a way. It will probably fade at some point, but it will never disappear completely." He sighed. "To bad the weather is like this. When I saw it the first time, it was much more clear, and you could see all the way down into the next valley. But still, it is quite magnificent as it is." Oghren suddenly laughed. It was a different laugh than the one Duran had heard from him before, not sarcastic, or drunken, or bloodthirsty. It sounded like a genuine laugh, and suddenly Oghren looked much younger than he was before, not gritty and dirty and miserable as he had back in the city. He straightened himself and took a step forward. "Well then! What are we standing around here for then, like Brontos with the runs? Looks like we're wasting daylight." He chuckled to himself again. "Still a lot to do, as far as I bothered to pay attention." With that, he went ahead, the rest of the group following him slowly.

"Right." Duran muttered to himself. "Thanks for reminding me." And so he,too, went, without a single look back.

_Trian. Father._

_Bhelen._

_I never hated you. How could I ever have hated you? I can even understand you, to a degree. I just wish things could have been different._

_I also wish I had more time. To properly mourn you. To be able to remember. Remember the little boy with these incredibly big, inquisitive eyes. Remember the young soldier, so full of excitement and ideals and passion._

_But I have a mission. A mission bigger than everything else in my life, and I know it would just shame all of you, were I to put my own selfish desires before it. One day, when the Deep Roads will swallow me, we will be reunited, and then I will have time. Maybe even before that. But until then…_

_I may have no regrets._


End file.
